Page 18 of Knotty, Nice, & Holiday Lights
Things are quieter afterward until I set her up at the standing mixer on the wall opposite the fridge while I set up the baking sheets with parchment paper.
I watch her every so often as she stops the mixer to pour some of the wet ingredients in, wipes down the sides of the bowl with her spatula, then starts it up again.
This is the first time I’m not baking alone for the holidays in a couple of years. Actually, the first time baking or cooking with someone for any reason in all that time.
Asher can’t cook for shit.
I rub at my chest absently as Izzy turns her grinning face up at me, carrying the mixing bowl over to the counter where I stand with prepared baking sheets and a tray of cinnamon and sugar.
After we’ve washed our hands, I pass her a cookie scoop. “We scoop the dough, roll it into a ball like this,” I tell her, doing each thing as I say it. “Then, we drop the dough balls into this tray and roll them around to coat them.” When I finish doing justthat, I plop the ball onto the baking sheet, flattening the bottom a touch. “And that’s all there is to it.”
“I think I can handle that. You know, without dumping the tray of cinnamon and sugar all over myself.” Her grin is saucy, those eyes narrowing on me, making me laugh again.
As we prep the cookies, I tell her, “For Christmas, we used to use colored sugar crystals.”
“I love that,” she says. “Festive is my jam.”
I peer at her as she works like a machine, rolling, coating, and placing all the cookies on the baking sheet. My heart aches at the thought of her not being with me—with us—at Christmastime, too.
I should be happy she’s here at all, and I know it. I really do. But… already, I know I am never going to want to let her leave. Not even the scent neutralizers have dulled the pull I feel.
How in the world are we going to convince her to stay?
“What’s all this?”
Asher stands just inside the kitchen doorway, dark eyes wide as they track Izzy’s movements before assessing the rest of the kitchen mayhem.
“Thanksgiving cookies!” Izzy tells him, holding up a raw dough ball. “Want to help?”
I laugh as Asher cringes. “I’m absolute rubbish in the kitchen.” He looks at me then. “This is for the charity?”
“Yeah. The drive is tomorrow.”
He nods before gesturing to the kitchen table beside him, where plastic trays, wraps, and ribbons sit with scissors and tape. “May I?”
Last year, Asher handled all the wrapping, and to my surprise, he did it like a professional paid employee at a fancy gift shop. “I’d appreciate it,” I tell him. “If you could do it like last year, with equal amounts of the different cookies, that would be great.”
“Right-O.”
“Last year?” Izzy’s gaze bounces between us.
“Um, yeah,” I say, brow tightening. “I guess Asher didn’t tell you he was here.”
“Sorry about that,” Asher says as he passes us by with a plastic tray and heads for the cooled cookies behind us. “Must’ve slipped my mind.” After he returns to the table, he adds, “When I’d said I’ve been here for over a year, I meant here at the B&B.”
Huh. What’s his play here?
“So, you two are friends then?”
I open my mouth to respond, but Asher beats me to it.
“Best of friends, love. Like brothers, really.”
I blink as Izzy breathes, “Oh, wow. I had no idea.”
Uh… “Yeah, Asher has been around since last Spring, I think.”
“It’sbeautifulhere in Springtime,” Asher adds, extra emphasis on “beautiful” as he eyes Izzy. “You should see all the blooming flowers. And the hummingbirds up here are far more colorful than in the south.”
